MUSTANG JOE

My name’s Joe, and I’m the last holdout in the War against Carbon. I didn’t expect to get so much recognition for my ‘accomplishments’, living in such a remote area, but go figure…

I peer intently through my yellowed curtains. The posse is already halfway up the hill, their progress most certainly slowed by their pathetically incapable hydrogen-electric hybrid vehicles’ inability to scale the steep grade. The sirens are just a low drone, rising slowly in volume. I’ve got plenty of time.

Grabbing my trusty (and outlawed) 12-gauge and my dufflebag, I bolt out the door toward the garage. The side door makes a hearty creaking sound as I open it and enter, flipping on the light. (Fluorescent? Not a chance. It’s all out rebellion)

There she is, gleaming bright blue in the pale yellow incandescence, beckoning to me. She’s a1967 Mustang two door fastback, 390 cubic-inch, 315 horsepower V-8 engine. Not a speck of rust or grime on her, maintained every single day with reverent attention, she’s about to show her stuff.

In the far corner sits a large red plastic canister full of the last remaining reserve of gasoline I have. I’d been saving for this very day. I pop open the gas cap on the rear and begin to feed my pride and joy. I give her every last drop, and replace the cap.

I grab the ring of keys from a small hook on the wall, open the door, and jump inside. I put the key in the ignition and slowly turn it. My dream girl purrs to life, a deep, throaty, familiar rumble. I close my eyes and wait for the right moment.

Sirens, approaching. Barely discernible whirs and murmurs of engines with none of the husky goodness of my sweet lady, gradually rising in volume. They’re coming around the final bend of my drive, the last leg approaching my homestead. A few more seconds….

Now.

I jam my foot on the gas pedal, and she springs to life, hurtling forward through the deliberately weakened wood panels of the shed door, splintering them into flying shards, rocketing over the slight incline I had built and going airborne for several moments. I look down at the feeble hydrogen-powered cruisers and wave. She kisses the ground with a loud thud, kicking up dust. I reach with my left hand for the shotgun at my side, maneuvering my Mustang into a controlled skid, wheeling counterclockwise so that I’m facing the handful of cruisers in front of my house.

I lift the shotgun and fire a decisive round. I’d been planning this for some time now, and I had been hoping it was as satisfying as I had imagined.

It certainly is; thank you, hydrogen. The hit cruiser goes up “WHOOMP” and the others follow, like dominoes.

I jam it to the floor. Squealing almost with joy, she races me down the hill, leaving behind chaos and destruction and my former home.

I peer down at the map sticking out of my dufflebag. I’m not sure where I’m headed next, but I’m hopeful there are other holdouts like me, those who cling to the good old days where there were no threats, no regrets, and most of all no worries. Looking at the gas gauge, I figure I’ve got two days, maybe three. But I know my sweet lovely Lady will take me wherever I need to go.

She’s the one thing I have left.

PURSUE, CATCH

After a long night of fruitless trolling, I spotted her fiddling with the leaves on one of the potted tropical plants near the bar. She was tall and strikingly beautiful, with a dark complexion laced with curls of thick auburn hair. Her tight red gown clung to her like shrink wrap, and her matching stilettos whispered that she meant business. I was through with being subtle. I decided to make my move.
"Waiting for someone?" I asked, easing up to her from behind, 2 drinks in hand. She looked coyly over her shoulder at me and grinned. I lay the two drinks on the bar.
"Well, " she replied, "Yes and no.... yes, I've been waiting for someone, and... what took you so long?"
I flushed. She was playing my game. "I hope you don't mind... I'm rather fond of kamikazes, so.."
"That's wonderful. Taste just like limeade."
She brushed her hair aside, unveiling eyes of sparkling blue mist that pierced my hollow soul. I blinked for a brief moment, for fear that mine own would betray me. Left hand leaning against the bar, my right hand gently brushed my right coat pocket to ensure all was ok.
"So why haven't I seen you at one of Bruce's other parties?" I asked. Bruce, an up-and-comer in the social scene, seemed to be the center of mass of the rich and powerful. His parties were usually a who's-who list. Being a childhood friend of his, I always considered myself fortunate to mingle with this inner circle. Catering to celebrities, politicians, and business executives alike, the parties Bruce gave always seemed to produce paparazzi, and with that the occasional scandal in the supermarket gossip rag. I'd been to all his parties, but I'd never seen such a splendid sight of a woman before.
"Well, I got the invitation; I met Bruce a couple of times casually, nothing romantic or anything... and I thought it would be a great... social opportunity."
"That it is," I stated, but I was confused. I hadn't known Bruce much to cold-invite guests, particularly just casual acquaintances. But hey, that was ok, given the current circumstances in which I found myself. "I realize it's a bit abrupt, but I find myself particularly attracted to you, and was wondering if you could somehow complete the perfect evening."
She looked up, a gleam in her eye. "I was wondering when you'd ask... let's just rid ourselves of introductions, alright? I'm sure we'll do just fine getting to know each other, you know?"
I liked her thinking. It made things so much easier for me. We grabbed our drinks and headed for a more quiet, isolated location outside. I eased my hand into my pocket as we walked outside, the cool night air enveloping us.

The patio overlooked a lakefront, the gentle waves lapping across the smoothed rocks at the waterline. She moved to the railing, leaning foward against it, her hair rustling in the soft lake breeze. It was like something from a fairy tale like my mother used to read me. Before my father came home...
Drunk.
Violent.
I cringed. The aura around her thin, supple form cast by cloud-filtered moonlight suddenly turned a harsh red. I pulled my right hand out of my pocket, while laying my left hand softly on her shoulder, letting my cheek brush back the wisps of hair near her neck and gently kiss the curve near her shoulder. Careful to keep my right hand in the shadow, I grazed the silky red fabric with my knuckles, easing down toward her waist. She turned toward me, her eyes closed, as if dreaming.
She whispered, "This is the perfect night, isn't it? Everything is so... sensual. I feel like all of my senses are heightened."
I nuzzled against her ear, kissing the tip of the lobe. "Perfect is an understatement."
She turned around to meet me, her lips coming dangerously close to mine. I could feel her soft flesh through her gown as she made no effort to draw anywhere but closer. I kept my right hand behind her.
"But do you know what would make it much better?" she asked.
She was absolutely right about the senses. The moon took on an otherworldly glow, casting a profound misty luminescence on the water below. And it shimmered, and dazzled. It was almost illusory, the way it made the lake seem to undulate, and the ground on which he was standing heave like a storm-tossed boat. He almost felt... intoxicated.
She repeated, "... would make the night so much better?"
It was... as if.... intoxicated? The moon and ground fused, the world around him spun uncontrollably, and he sunk to the deck, hard, the scalpel he was holding in his right hand clattering to the ground.
"I think seeing a pig like you put out of my misery would be soooo much better, sweetheart..."
Darkness.

Pain awoke me. It was sharp, stinging, on my face. Someone had just slapped me. That bitch! I should never have let my guard down, or taken my eyes off the drink, or....
Her perfume, on her neck, had a funny scent...
I cursed under my breath and struggled to open my eyes. I heard someone walking slowly in front of me, approaching. I poised myself to spit in her face, to let her have it, at least verbally, if not more, for ruining my work... I squinted... saw a form...
"Bruce?? What gives, man? Get me out of this thing... this crazy bitch, she poisoned..."
Bruce half-grinned. "It's OK, man. It's her modus operandi, poisoning men and suffocating them while they're out cold. You've read about her, haven't you? The Brown Recluse killer?"
I raised my head, confused. "She - she's a serial killer?"
"It looks that way, my friend. I saved you just in the nick of time. I think you'll be happy to know she's tied up in that chair right next to you."
I was flabbergasted. There, to my right, bound and gagged and looking simultaneously angry and pathetic, was the woman from the bar, her red suit wrinkled with a slight tear near her thigh. "So... what the hell are you waiting for? Untie me already and let's take care of her!"
He paused, then knelt on one knee in front of me so he could look me squarely in the face. "You're not all that innocent yourself, are you, Ken?"
He raised a hand in front of me. He was holding my scalpel. "You were going to use this tonight, weren't you, buddy? See, the ironic part about this whole mess, and this situation you found yourself in, is that you were on your way to make a whole lot bloodier mess than the Recluse here, weren't you?"
"Uh-"
"So how many has it been so far, Ken? Five? Fifteen? Fifty? You buy them a drink, take them for a walk on the beach, thinking they have absolutely no clue you're going to gut them and leave them for the insects and birds. Fascinating. And I bet you blame your abusive father, the one you occasionally, though accidentally, bring up when you suffer some emotional breakdown. I get it."
He walked over to the bound woman, who was still struggling against all odds. "And you, whatever your name is... can I just call you Rec? I bet you blame your big brother. You know.. the one who took you out back and showed you what he was made of... and what his friends were made of, one after the other, every...single...day... for years. He was a sick bastard, I know, and I don't blame you for acting out, Rec. I don't blame either of you.
"But see, the BIG mystery here is.... why on earth do I do what I do? I mean, look at me. Who's ever on the IT list... I know and hang out with every last one of them. People envy me, want to be me, even want to BUY me. I had a great childhood, voted most likely to succeed and all that. So how do you explain me?"
He walked around her chair, behind us both, surveying and apparently taking delight in our confusion and panic. And there wasn't a single thing we could do about it.
He continued, "That lake over there. There's probably forty five, fifty in it, give or take a drunken stupor. I'm thinking, this is easy... nobody knows the worse for it. They're all nobodies, much like yourselves, I suppose. Except for one thing... I read the papers. And all. I see. Is YOU two. Page one, first edition, and my charity functions, they're relegated to the second or third page. And they try to find a reason, and I found the reason, and that's how I found you two, and we all had such a wonderful evening together. You make such a nice couple... all your emotional baggage weighing you down like those poor fools I dumped in the lake."
He circled around to me, and looked me directly in the eyes, mere inches away. I flinched.
"As they say, therein lies the rub. You have your reasons. I don't have any. No regrets, no excuses, I simply don't give a damn.You should have enjoyed it for what it is - a sport. We could have had fun together, kept it competitive, but you're way too easy to figure out. You and your consciences, have a wonderful time in the afterlife you deserve." With that, he slapped a hand on my neck... only it wasn't my neck. I looked down, then looked over at the Brown Recluse, now sobbing through her restraints.
For the first time in my life, as I heard Bruce's footsteps walking toward our inevitable fate, I felt regret. Shame. Fear.
There were monsters in our heads. Fierce monsters, that acted through us, destroying lives. But they were not us.
They were him.
The sound of a motor turning over, the rapid tightening of the ropes around our necks.
Blackness, for good this time.

NANO GODS

The rain poured relentlessly outside. The micro-God was wistful this morning.

I turned down the shade, walking back to the recliner with stealthy footsteps. You never knew when one might hear, and perhaps deduce the wrong intentions… to them, intentions were everything.

And really, ironically, our good intentions were the start of this whole mess.

Our obsession with environmental purity, our fear of what might be and relentlessness in our pursuit of an all-encompassing solution drew laser-sharp focus from the world’s brightest minds. They all agreed that the technology, tools, and science were there for a quick resolution. Our rapidly growing skill set in the field of nanotechnology, they claimed, provided the potential to remove any excess carbon, ozone, methane, and many other kinds of pollutants from the atmosphere in short order. The money was there, as was the intent, and now there was nothing to stop it from happening.

The designers gave these nanorobots the ability to fly, or rather to glide , on prevailing wind currents.

They were given the ability to absorb certain molecules. The molecules would be “eaten”, until the nanobots were laden, at which time they would sink earthward and become part of the earth itself, as it had been so long ago.

They were given the ability to self-reproduce. That, I think, was the hitch, because once they evolved what appeared to be a primitive consciousness, there was nothing that could stop them.

You really didn’t want to upset them.

On a bad day, when the nanos felt threatened by a run-of-the-mill passenger jet that just happened to penetrate their masses, a built-in defense mechanism activated. Reproduction doubled, tripled, and more. Something just shy of anger erupted, and we soon knew what was in store for us when the plane got tossed from the sky by a sudden downburst from a supercell thunderstorm that appeared in just minutes out of a clear, blue autumn sky.

We knew then that they could control the weather, on a whim. Were they supposed to have whims?

They could control the flow of wind, the clouds, even the content of the air we breathed. They had, in essence, become God-beings.

The volume was muted on the television at the other end of the room. I couldn’t risk their comprehension of what was going on. I was watching CNN. Something important was going to happen in the next few days. I was impressed at the bravery of the reporters for even daring to break the story… but I knew they knew what was at stake. We needed, if only for a moment, to experience a small sensation of hope. Which of us remembered what that felt like anymore?

In the banner, there were indications that somehow, they were sensing what was about to happen. Hail storms destroyed crops in Italy, where a leading scientist lived. A typhoon like no other seen before threatened the coast of Japan, from which observers made the latest calculations and concluded that yes, this was probably the last hope for humanity.

The report grew bolder as time passed. We were instructed to seek shelter as far deep underground as possible. The God-things would not be happy, and that was the least of our troubles.

I think they knew. After all, it was raining. Everywhere, it was raining.

The scrolling banner now read “Asteroid expected to hit in three days – seek shelter now!”

Imagine that. Our only hope, coming from something that nearly rendered our world desolate many eons ago.

My thoughts? I think the real God didn’t appreciate the competition.